


Faces

by orphan_account



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Drabble, Matter of Life and Death, Philosophy, Short, Suicidal Thoughts, Trains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 02:41:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6685930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You never know a lot of things. A characteristic of things is that they often change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faces

**Author's Note:**

> mind dump

 

 

 

 

The world is moving at high speed. I keep my eyes fixed to the ground, fists tight around nothing in the pockets of the thin jacket, and someone bumps into me on the stairs. There are a lot of people and no apologies. I accidentally step on someone's shoe, ducking my head as my pace quickens for a second or two, and the menace of the moment is gone. They didn't care to call out on me.

 

I once read somewhere that if you were to commit suicide by jumping under a train in Japan, the train company has the right to force your family to come up for cleanup fees, loss of income and negative publicity brought on by the suicide. Someone will sit there in front of their computer screen, assembling charges and calculating the total amount of expenses, only to send them to the remaining family; maybe a little side note attached: _Sorry for your loss._

 

Everything in life has a price. Not even death is for free.

 

I sit on my usual bench the farthest away from the stairs. It's made of wood that's become rotten over the years, and looking at it, I sometimes feel like snorting a little. The roofs of the train station don't go all the way out here; it's an open hall with no real walls, so whenever it rains, it rains on my bench. I like the metaphor. One day I will come out here to find it too rotten to sit on.

Given I'll live to see that day. You never know.

 

You never know a lot of things. A characteristic of things is that they often change.

There's a distant hum forming in the distance.

 

It's ironical how Silence's death is always bound to the presence of noise. Then again, it's the sun that makes the moon shine. Though day might be the death of the night, it is also the one thing that helps us orientate while it's there.

 

In an irrational moment of surprise, I find myself thinking back to the day I was standing approximately five feet ahead, two feet down, for the first time. A deer in headlights with the exception that no one was there to look.

 

You always hear the train before you can see it. It's nothing more than a silent hum at first, distant and soft, then steadily growing louder and louder the nearer it gets. I remember running away in blank fear that day. Shock, terror, adrenaline and the feeling of going insane. I don't remember how my shaky legs managed to carry me.

 

Some things never change. I will come here everyday, thanking god I'm not born in Japan, with my heart pounding off beat and my feet frozen to the ground. The train screams as it slows down, slowly comes to a halt, sighing in relief as the doors open and vomit streams of bodies and faces.

Some brush by me.


End file.
